Luyện nghe bài hát Got Ur Self A...

Woke up mornin', (yeah)
You got a gun (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Got a gun

Yo, I'm livin' in this behind enemy lines so

I got mine, I hope you (got a gun)
You the hood I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
You want beef? I ya (got yo'self a gun)
And when I see you I'ma take what I
So, you to front, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got a gun)

My, first album had no guest appearances
The outcome: I'm the best lyricist
years on this professional level
Why would you question better? The world is still mine
real with "God's Son" across the belly
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" thoughts like that
To take it back to Africa, I did it Biggie
Me and Tupac were soldiers of the struggle
You should huddle, your team's shook
feel the wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder pads
But the Q.B. don't for no quarterback
Every is like a sawed-off blast, 'cause y'all all soft
And I'm the black that came to haul y'all ass in
It's for the hood by the store
Many try, die, come at Nas if you want a war, get it bloody, uh

Yo, I'm the N the A to the
And If I wasn't, I must've Escobar
You know the kid got his tooth fixed
Hair parted with a barber's preciseness, Bravehearted for
It's the return of the Golden Child, son of a blue's
So who are you playa? Y'all awaited the true
that tropical, cups of that Vodka too
Papi chu', up, wake up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, I do this through righteous steps
You Judists thought I was gone, so in of my death
Y'all been all happy-go-lucky, of sambos
me "God's Son", with my pants low
I don't die slow, put them rags up like Petey
This is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with this Nas
the beat back, now it's all reppin'
Hit the record sto', let me go, get my whole collection, yo

It's, the, return of the Prince, the
This is real hardcore, Kid and Limp Bizkit's soft
Sip Cris', get chips, wrist gliss, I
Stick shift, look up in that Boxter Porsche
With the top cut off, kids go and cop The Source
They don't about the blocks I'm on
And everybody want to know where the kid go? Where he at?
he shop at and dress at?
Know he got dough, where does he Is he still in the bridge?
he really know how ill that he is?
Got all of y'all watchin' my moves, my watch and my
Hop in my coupe, dodge interviews that
not only my jewels, ice anything, plenty chains
Look at my tennis shoes, I that
Who am I? The back-twister,
Automatic leg-spreader, brain-getter
Keepin' it gangsta ya, uh

x2]